


The Taste of Snow

by Icanseenow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Depressed Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2019-09-23 02:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17071871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icanseenow/pseuds/Icanseenow
Summary: It's late december and things between Dean and Sam aren't great. Barely talking to each other, they seek out Bobby's help in dealing with a Gaki, a Japanese hunger ghost and end up spending christmas in Sioux Falls.Dean is waiting for Castiel's return.Sam loves snow a little bit too much.





	1. December 23

**Author's Note:**

> This is a christmas story in so far as that's the season it's set in & they're celebrating christmas in it. However, it is generally not a very fluffy story (tw: talk of suicide), just a heads up if that's what you were hoping for.

It was too cold to stay outside longer than absolutely necessary. 

It was _definitely_ much too cold to be crouched down in the snow, wearing nothing but a shirt. No jacket, gloves or hat. 

The cold had long since found its way through Sam's boots and socks, and had crawled up his body. His feet felt almost as numb as his throbbing fingers, and with every gust of wind, no matter how short, a shiver ran down his spine. 

He rubbed his hands together and looked at the car corpses buried beneath both corn and fresh powder snow. Snowflake after snowflake the layers kept multiplying on the cheap plastic canvas that Bobby had thrown over the cars in a weak attempt to keep them from rusting. 

Sam wondered how much snow the car roofs could withstand before they would collapse under the load. 

An old metal sign, of which he only knew from experience that it announced the Singer Auto Self Service Salvage Yard, was thorougly covered by the snow and threatened to fall off the rotten wood any minute now. 

For a moment he considered getting up and clearing the sign and the cars of the snow. 

He stayed where he was, near the house, and turned his head upwards. The sky was grey rather than white. Somewhere in the corner of his vision there was a bright spot where he suspected the sun to be much too cold to be crouched down in the snow, wearing nothing but a shirt. 

He blinked away the flakes that blew into his eyes. 

The cold burned pleasantly in his nostrils. He took a deep breath. 

He had always loved the smell of snow. 

Dean had always claimed there was nothing there to smell. 

»Snow doesn't smell of anything, dumbass«, he had said when Sam had first mentioned his preference. He'd been about 8 at the time. »It doesn't taste of anything either. It doesn't even make a goddamn sound. Snow just swallows everything around it.« 

As if to prove his point, Dean had held a handful of snow in front of his own face, sniffed at it and licked it with the tip of his tongue. 

Sam had blinked at him and had opened his mouth in question. 

Dean had been with him in just one swift step. 

The snow he’d rubbed into Sam's face had come unexpectedly.

»See? Snow doesn't have a taste or smell."

Dean had been wrong. 

He could taste the snow crystals on his tongue even now. 

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. 

»Sam?« 

Bobby sounded irritated. 

Sam hadn't heard the car approaching, and he had skillfully ignored the creaking steps in the snow.

He opened his eyes. 

Bobby's hat, his coat and even his beard were all covered in powdery white. He looked like a Santa Claus who’d spent the last year a bit too fond of the bottle. In other words, he looked like any proper Santa Claus should. 

The critical, worried expression on Bobby’s face was hard to miss.

»What exactly are you doing out here? It’s freaking cold!«

Sam straightened up quickly. 

Feeling embarrassed, he hectically rubbed the snow off his sleeves. 

He couldn't think of an excuse.

»Nothing. I just wanted to get some air.«

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. 

»If you stay like this any longer, you'll catch pneumonia.« He looked at him thoughtfully. »Well… it's your own lungs. Do what you got to do.«

He nodded towards the house. 

»Is your brother inside?«

Sam nodded. 

»Did you get everything?«, he asked. 

»I did.« With a groan Bobby lifted his backpack off his shoulders. »We shouldn't run into any problems. But you never know.«

It wasn't until he was in the house that Sam realized how cold he really was. The heat from the stove burned itself uncomfortably into his joints and muscles, now that the numbness slowly subsided. 

Dean was lying on the sofa, a beer in his hand, just like Sam had left him. 

He didn't look up when Sam stepped into the room, but when Bobby joined him a little later, he put an arm over the sofa back and pulled himself up. 

»Did you get everything?«

Bobby nodded. If he had noticed the tense mood, at least he didn’t ask. Maybe he was just used to it. The mood between the brothers hadn't exactly been harmonious the last times they had visited Sioux Falls. 

Bobby wasn't an idiot. He'd know that the case had nothing to do with Sam and Dean not talking. 

Sam sat down on one of the chairs, his back towards the couch. He looked at Bobby expectantly. 

»And you're sure we'll get rid of the ghost like this?«

Bobby's expression revealed just how much offense he took. 

»Sam, nobody here denies your genius, but when it comes to Japanese supernatural beings, maybe for once, you're not the expert here. Or would you like to translate the text yourself again, just to be sure? If you could do the Segaki yourself, you both wouldn't be here now, would you?«

When Sam turned to his brother, he expected an amused look on his face, but Dean had turned his back on him. He knelt on the floor and was busy emptying out Bobby's backpack. 

Sam kept his mouth shut for most of the remainder of the evening. 

He tried to bring his hands back to life by rubbing them over his jeans, and largely left the preparation for the feeding of the Japanese hunger spirit to Bobby and Dean. 

He felt rather superfluous.


	2. December 24

They hadn't planned on spending the holidays at Bobby's. 

Not that anything in Bobby's home would have made you think of Christmas anyway. Not unless you mistook the smell of charred meat that hung in the air for the scent of a nice roast. 

Dean was glad the case had brought them to Sioux Falls. There was no place that had felt so much like a home, a refuge, since ... well ... probably since his family home had gone up in flames alongside his mother. 

Besides, Dean had to admit it was a relief to have someone around who didn't look at him with that damned disappointment in his eyes all the time. 

At least Bobby's presence wasn't a constant reminder of how badly he was doing on the brother front. How badly he was failing not only Sam but his parents too. If he owed them anything (and he owed them everything), then it was to make sure that Sam was doing okay. Right now a brief glance at his brother was enough to see just how much Dean was failing his task. 

Of course, Sam was hardly an innocent bystander in all of this. Choosing a demon over him, getting hooked on drinking blood, literally making all the wrong choices that led them to this mess in the first place-

No. Stop. He wasn't going to go over the whole thing in his head yet again. He wasn't going think about every little thing that had happened, trying to figure out who had fucked up where. There was no use in pondering at what point exactly everything had started going down the drain. And what use was it, even if he did manage to figure out a tipping point. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

Even if there was something bad - like really bad, evil, monster-like, boy king of hell-level bad - deep inside the core of his brother... Then it was Dean's job to make sure it never got out. 

He had spent so much time saving Sam from others, monsters and humans alike, but he'd neglected saving him from himself. 

Dean was trying, trying really hard, to just let everything go, forgive and forget, and move on. 

He just wasn't sure if that was possible anymore. Maybe some things just could not be reversed. 

Each time they'd talked lately it'd been nothing but but a constant battle of rubbing, pulling, tugging. Fights that led to nothing, except both of them regretting their words the next day. 

The way they'd been the past days was almost an improvement really, the almost-silence, and that was only thanks to them tip-toeing around each other. 

Dean was good at suppressing emotions he didn't like, at pretending. He wasn't as good at ignoring these glances Sam had been shooting his way for months now. As if he was looking for something in Dean's eyes that he didn't know if it still existed.

Bobby was glad to have them here, even if never said so in so many words. He hadn't invited them to stay longer, nor told them to leave as soon as they'd got rid of the ghost. So far, they'd been too busy with the case anyway, to worry about the future. 

Dean had figured out they were hunting a Japanese ghost quite quickly, although he still had no idea what a yūrei was doing in the middle of South Dakota. 

»It's not a yurei«, Sam said, his voice strained. It was the first sentence out of his mouth today that went beyond the absolute necessities. 

Dean tried not to show how good it felt to have Sam talking to him at all. Even if it only sprang from his brother's need to be a know-it-all. 

»A Japanese spirit is a yūrei, right?« Dean wiped his sticky hand on his shirt. »That's what Bobby said when we arrived.«

Sam pushed a stack of books aside on the windowsill and sat down next to them. 

He was looking out the window as he answered. 

»Yūrei is just the Japanese word for ghost.« It seemed like he was talking to someone on the other side of the glass. »It's the generic term for all kinds of spirits. Onryō, for example, are ghosts from purgatory who want to take revenge. Ubume are women who have died during the birth of their child. Or women leaving behind very young children. They appear to them as spirits, looking after them and bringing them sweets.« Sam's warm breath left marks on the glass as he lectured like he'd wallowed a textbook whole. It was more than just a little spooky. »Goryō are aristocratic revenge spirits; a Funayūrei is kind of mermaid spirit; Zashiki-warashi are the ghosts of children, mostly pretty harmless really; and Jibakurei are spirits bound to a specific place or situation. But they are quite rare.«

»Which one of these are we dealing with? She didn't seem like she'd just wanted to bring us a pack of gummy bears.«

Sam turned his head and looked at him blankly. 

»She's none of the ones I mentioned. She's a gaki, a hunger ghost.« 

»What is she hungry for?«

Sam held his gaze.

»According to Buddhism, Gaki were incredibly jealous and avaricious people. As punishment for their sins they are cursed with an insatiable hunger for a certain humiliating substance: human corpses, excrement or bodily fluids ...« 

»Gross. But at least the human corpses thing would explain all the grave robberies.«

»The Segaki Bobby's preparing isn't meant to kill the Gaki, but to free her from the hunger and suffering. I feel a bit bad for her. She can't really help it...«

It was so damn typical of Sam to think he had anything in common with a shit-eating ghost who'd tried to plunge them down a steep cliff just two days ago. 

»Yeah, I bet if you get to know her she's actually really nice. I'm still glad when we finally get to gank her. Baby needs a new bumper thanks to old Yoko Ono in that medieval dress of hers, so excuse me if I'm not about to shed a tear for her.«

»She was probably just scared of us.«

Sam turned his head back to the window. 

Dean waited a moment. As he turned to leave, Sam spoke again. 

»Has Cas gotten back to you yet?«

»No. Not yet.«

Sam did not say anything anymore. He just looked silently out of the window.

The Segaki went smoothly. 

Afterwards Dean found himself next to Bobby on the couch, each of them with a glass of cheap whiskey in their hands. He was not sure how many he'd already had. Or how long it had been since Sam had excused himself and announced that he wanted to quickly read through Bobby's translation and some of the sources. Apparently he thought they both knew too little about supernatural beings outside of the American continent anyway. Which didn't really make much sense to Dean. They'd done okay so far and he wasn't planning on traveling overseas anytime soon. 

Bobby had already drunk enough to stop feeling coy about his musical taste. He'd put on his favorite Joni Mitchell record. Dean had never liked "Blue" much, the songs were just too depressing, the lyrics too direct and something about her voice just didn't sit right with him. But right now he was drunk enough to think of it as rather atmospheric. 

»Will you guys keep me company tomorrow or are you already looking at a new case?«

Dean shook his head. 

»Nothing new in sight so far. And if there was, you'd know about it sooner than us.«

»That's true«, Bobby laughed. 

Dean had no idea if Bobby usually celebrated Christmas. He had trouble picturing it. Maybe there was something like a Christmas dinner for all the lonely hunters out there. The thought depressed him. 

»Have you heard anything new from your angel lately?«

Dean blinked irritably. 

»He is not my angel.«

The first side of the record ended. The needle made a scratching sound. 

Bobby got up and went over to the record player. 

»So you haven't heard from him in a while?«

There was pity in his voice. 

»The last time we saw him, he said there's lots of stuff going on in heaven that needed taking care of.« The second side started to play. »That was about two months ago, I think.«

He averted his eyes as Bobby sat down again. 

Bobby took a sip of his glass while Joni Mitchell sang in the background about being homesick and missing California. 

»Are you going to tell me what's going on between you and Sam?«

_But my heart cried out for you, California_

»What do you mean?«

_I'm your biggest fan, California, I'm coming home_

Fuck. 

He definitely would not start crying over Joni fucking Mitchell. He was at that dangerous point in his drinking where the sentimentality had reached its peak and the feelings hadn't been drowned in the alcohol yet. 

»Is everything okay with Sam?«

Dean looked up from his glass. 

»Yes. No demon blood, no new demon lovers, no "I'll sacrifice myself for everything and anyone as soon as the first opportunity arises". It's all just peachy! Don't worry, I make sure to sprinkle a serving of holy water on him every morning.«

»I wasn't talking about anything supernatural.« Bobby narrowed his eyes. »I meant, is he doing okay?«

He cringed. The word seemed inappropriate to him. 

»When was the last time he was really doing okay?«

Dean was glad when the next song began to play, so he'd finally be able to put the thoughts of Sam's life in Stanford out of his mind. 

Except, of course, things never worked like that. 

Sam would probably already be on his way to become the next big thing in some law firm in California. Dean could picture him in his expensive suit in an office that looked suspiciously like Ally McBeal's - something Dean knew only thanks to that feverish and bedridden week many years ago, when nothing else had been on TV. Sam making important phone calls and shuffling through his papers, until he'd drive home after many hours of overtime and fall into the couch completely exhausted, next to Jessica. He'd fall asleep with his head on her shoulder, while some animal documentary was playing in the background. 

The worst thing about this terrible image was that Sam seemed happy. He was living the boring, normal life that he had always wanted. The life that Dean had made impossible for him. 

»Hey, son.« Bobby waved his hand in front of his eyes. »What kind of monsters are you seeing?«

Dean pulled himself together. 

»Nothing. None, I mean.« He straightened up and cleared his throat. »Everything's fine. I'm just a bit tired. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night.«

He saw that Bobby wanted to ask further. To drill to get to the bottom of everything. 

Dean wanted nothing less than to pour out his feelings. He trusted Bobby more than most people in the world, but stuff like that ... It was better to deal with them on your own. Talking about it never changed anything anyway. 

»I think I'll hit the hay.« 

He pointed to the door as if Bobby didn't know where they slept. 

Bobby frowned, but eventually nodded. 

»Okay, then. It was a real long day.«

Dean set the glass aside, got up and fled. 

»Night.«

»Good night, Dean.«

He was alone in the room when he pulled out his bag from under the bed. 

The bed opposite his, the one covered by that ugly yellow, moth-eaten throw, was still empty despite the late hour. 

Sam was probably still reading. 

Dean doubted that Japanese mythology really intrigued his brother that much. Sam was unusually curious and inquisitive by nature, but even his brain had limited nightly storage capacities.

It hurt that his brother avoided him like that. 

Dean dug around inside his bag until he found a reasonably clean T-shirt that didn't reek too much. Who could have guessed that Japanese ghost exterminations stank like hell.


	3. 24th/25th of December

Sam had been lying awake in his bed for nearly an hour now.

Earlier, he'd dozed off, his head pillowed on one Bobby's mythology books. He'd hardly managed to drag himself away and into the bed then. Now though, he was wide awake. 

Sam turned his head to get a look at the sleeping form of his brother. 

He felt closer to him now, while Dean was sleeping. It was safe to look at him when he couldn't give him one of his angry looks. The ones that made it clear that it was only their family bond that still held them together. That Dean would have left him behind long ago otherwise. Or maybe, if the timing had been right, had killed him. And for good reason, too. 

It probably would have been better, Sam thought. It was one of the few things they could both still agree on.

He was a burden, Dean had made that more than clear. Someone who had failed him both as a human being and as a brother.

Dean's nostrils trembled slightly with every deep breath he took. His mouth hanging open, he gave a small grunt, pulled the blanket over his shoulder and turned towards the wall.

Sam pushed his own blanket aside, sat up and placed his feet on the cold wooden floor. 

He was the cause of daily yet avoidable suffering for his brother, just by existing. 

He could do as much penance as he wanted, in the end he would always remain exactly what he was right now. Not quite human, not quite a full-fledged monster. Just a failure of a person. He knew Dean only let him stick around out of loyalty to their father, because John had made him give a promise. 

Sam shivered slightly as he made his way through the house to the door in his boxer shorts and t-shirt. 

He slipped into his wet boots, grabbed his jacket and stepped into the cold. 

The snow was even higher now, but the air was clear and flake-free. 

Sam walked to the backside of the house. With every step he took, he left deep tracks in white. 

The shoes and the jacket were a joke. He might as well have gone outside naked, as cold as it was. 

It probably wasn't normal to tie your own self worth so closely to your brother's perception of you. But he'd never been normal. They both had never been. 

If there was only one person left in the world who meant anything to you, and that person had made it clear that you were standing in the way of their happiness - it was a difficult thing to ignore. 

Sam wasn't sure what it was about the snow that made the memories of Jessica so much clearer, made the pain current and bright. During the rest of the year the memory of her was so faded that he sometimes wondered if he had simply made up their lives together. 

It's not like they'd seen a lot of snow in Stanford. But Sam had spent the holidays with her family once. It'd been the only really normal, happy Christmas he'd ever had. 

Jessica had been surprised by how quickly he'd agreed to spend christmas with her folks. They hadn't been together long then. She didn't question it much, though. The few times she'd tried to get him to reveal more about Dean and John had probably taught her that forcing the issue wouldn't work. 

He wondered what kind of family issues she'd thought they had. She had been a very rational person, who would have laughed at the thought of the supernatural being real. 

He had liked her family. Her strict but caring parents; her older brother, who had always been critical of Sam; her young, shy sister; and also her grandmother, who had already became slightly forgetful when he'd met her. Sam had been welcomed with open arms, in a way that was only possible in families where no mothers had burned to death on the ceiling. 

A pull went through his abdomen, as he thought that he hadn't seen any of them since Jessica's funeral. He'd had the feeling at the time, that at least some of her family members had turned sour against him. That they'd suspected him of having something to do with her death. He wondered what they might think of him now. Whether they ever gave a single bitter thought to him at all. 

Sam sat down carefully on a pile of logs near the house. 

There had also been other christmases in his life that he had taken pleasure in.

When he was young enough not to question things, he had enjoyed the christmases spent with Dean - and the few with John present, too. The colorful lights in the windows of other houses, the excitement hanging in the air, and the way Dean had done everything to make him forget how dreary their lives really were. It had been enough for a while. 

Sam moved his hand through the powdered snow that covered the wood. 

He had always loved snow. 

He stood up. The cold had numbed his bare legs. He barely winced as he lay down to let the snow swallow him completely. 

Only a few stars were sprinkled onto the black canvas of a sky. 

Sam stretched out his arms and moved them and his legs through the snow. He repeated the labored movement a few times before halting. 

He lay still but for the slight tremor, spread out like a starfish, and closed his eyes. 

Although the wetness had made its way through all his clothes, it didn't take long before he stopped noticing the icy coldness of his skin. Instead, he started feeling surprisingly warm and cozy.

He was overcome by a feeling of deep peace. 

He didn't know how long he was lying there before muffled noises penetrated his senses. 

He heard the creaking of snow as if through a veil. 

Someone approached him. 

He blinked. It took him a little while to see something. 

»Sam.«

It was a statement, not a demand. 

He didn't react. 

Castiel stood close to him, his hands buried in his trench coat and his head tilted to the side, watching him with a neutral expression on his face. 

His gaze moved over Sam slowly, who lay there in the snow his sleeping clothes, soaked shoes and a jacket that was far too thin to serve any purpose whatsoever. 

Castiel examined him closely, as if he were a particularly complicated arithmetic problem that he hadn't quite solved yet.

»What are you doing here?«

Sam looked at him for a long time before he spoke. It was surprisingly hard to get any words out. 

His voice sounded scratchy when he finally succeeded. 

»I'm making snow angels.«

Castiel didn't reply, but instead seemed to decide to shelve the provided information somewhere in his infinite celestial brain. 

»Dean and I used to do this as kids, whenever we got the chance.«

Castiel didn't offer him a hand to help him up. 

It took a while until Sam managed to lift himself out of the snow. 

»Dean is asleep«, he said, as he finally stood on shaky knees. 

Castiel continued to watch him closely.

Castiel followed Sam wordlessly to the house. When they opened the door, Sam immediately noticed the bright lights. As it turned out, Dean wasn't asleep anymore. 

In the hallway Sam's eyes were drawn to his brother's bare feet on the floor. It made him look oddly vulnerable. Sam imagined they them to be cold. 

Dean didn't seem to know who to look at. His gaze wandered back and forth between them, irritated. 

»Sammy.« It sounded more worried and surprised than reproachful. »Cas.« 

»Hello, Dean.« 

In that moment, Castiel's sonorous voice felt incredibly calming. As did the hand that he'd placed on Sam's neck. Despite the painful contrast of Cas warm fingers against his own icy skin, the touch helped.

The snow in Sam's hair began melting, running down his forehead and cheeks. He blinked away the drops that threatened to block his view. 

»Sammy, what's going on?«

Dean's penetrating gaze was different to Castiel's, but no less alert. 

Sam felt like he was about to betray himself with every movement and with every pause. 

He opened his mouth. 

»I'm sorry«, he might have said. 

And Dean would have asked what exactly it was he felt sorry for. 

Anything, Everything, would have been the answer he'd wanted to give and not be able to give. An answer Dean would never have accepted anyway. Not that Dean had ever been a person who accepted apologies and just moved on. No hard feelings. 

Dean did forgive. Once he'd pledged loyalty to someone, he was completely loyal to them. He repressed bad memories, and in that way he did forgive, but he never really forgot. 

No matter how worried Dean might have looked at him in the very moment, it was only a matter of time before he'd let Sam know again, what he really saw in him. 

A burden. A danger. Their mother's cause of death. Someone who had barely escaped the title of King of Hell, who wouldn't be trusted. Who knew where and how he'd misstep next time. A person whose badness was so deeply rooted, for whom darkness was always around the corner, that there was nothing in the world that could change it. 

»I'm cold.« Sam forced the words out of his trembling lips. »I need a warm shower.«


	4. 25th December

»Cas.«

It felt absurd to see him again so suddenly, after all this time. 

Castiel stood in the hallway and looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face and with no indication of recognition of the sheer absurdity of the situation. As if they'd only seen each other yesterday. As if he hadn't disappeared without a trace and been gone for months. 

»Hello, Dean.«

When Castiel's put his hand on Sam's nape, his trembling grew visibly stronger. 

His wet hair hung in his face, hiding most of it. All Dean could make out were his blue of his lips. 

Castiel still looked at him, somewhat expectantly now. 

Dean wanted to ask what he was doing here. Why he had just turned up now, when he'd ignored him so long before, but Sam had priority. 

»Sammy, what's going on?«

Sam slowly, turtle-like, turned his head towards Castiel, and looked at him imploringly. 

»I’m cold. I need a warm shower.«

Sam's voice sounded strange, hoarse and croaky. His stiff gait didn't fit him either. 

Dean gazed up from the wet tracks Sam had left on the floor, into intensely blue eyes studying him. 

»What happened to him?« 

»He was making snow angels«, Castiel replied. As if that explained anything at all. 

»It's the middle of the night.«

»Yes.«

Castiel put his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, his eyes never leaving Dean's. 

»What are you doing here?« Dean pushed away the thoughts about what Sam had really been doing outside. »I'm sure you didn't just put your heavenly duties aside just to come down here to say Merry Christmas.«

»No, I didn’t.« 

Castiel paused. Whether out of confusion or for other reasons, Dean couldn't tell. 

»You're not here bearing gifts?«, he asked in false dismay. »I am disappointed in you, man.« 

»I'm here because I felt my presence was needed. Considering Sam's hypothermia, I see this assumption confirmed. However, if you have such an increased interest in maintaining the tradition of gift exchange, that can, of course, be arranged, too.«

Dean stared at Castiel for a moment before, to his own amazement, he burst out laughing. 

It was a loud, almost hysterical laugh. Everything about this situation suddenly seemed so absurd to him, that his reaction did not even feel inappropriate. 

The way Sam had just slipped past him - half drowned rat, half suicidal apocalyptic; the confused look on Castiel's staring face; the fact that he himself was standing in Bobby's hallway, early Christmas morning, cold and tired in nothing but a T-shirts and boxer shorts, having a laughing fit of proportions not seen since the Magic Brownie incident in his youth. 

»Dean.« Castiel sounded almost scared. »Are you okay?«

»No«, he replied, surprising himself with his honesty, after the last laughs had finally died down. »Tell me if I'm wrong, but I think my little brother just tried to take his own life. In a ridiculous, extremely typical Sam way, of course, but still... No. No, Cas. I'm definitely not okay. I completely screwed up. I failed at the only thing that ever really mattered. So... Merry Christmas?«

He breathed heavily. His heart was racing. The strong pounding in his forehead still kept the repentance at bay, which always followed his emotional outbursts. But it would set in soon. 

Castiel came closer and put his hand on Dean's forehead. 

For a second, Dean thought he'd heal him. He didn't. 

»I thought you might have a fever. I know that some people are prone to hysterics in such cases.« 

From anyone else, Dean would have taken it as an insult. But Castiel's words were without any cynicism. They were caring. He was worried about him. 

It didn't seem like he was going to let go of his forehead any time soon. 

Dean's hand shot up to push him away. Instead, when his hand landed on Castiel's, he froze in the middle of the movement. 

He knew it had to look weird, the way they stood there. 

The warm fingers under Dean's hand felt nice. 

Castiel didn't seem to mind. 

Finally, Dean got his arm to move again. 

He pushed Castiel's hand away. 

»I don't have a fever. I'm not sick.«

No part of them was touching anymore, but it hardly made a difference, not with Castiel standing as close to him as he did.

»You prayed to me.«

»That was weeks ago. We don't need your help anymore.«

Castiel looked surprised, or maybe it wasn't so much surprise as it was pity. Sometimes Dean still found it hard to read the guy.

»Why are you at Bobby's?«

»Oh, just some weird Japanese ghost. It's already dealt with.«

Dean took a step back until he felt the wall in his back, but Castiel immediately closed the distance between them again. 

»What happened to Sam?«

»You mean besides, uh, pretty much everything that's happened in the last few years? You have to be more specific.«

»The last time I saw him, he didn't seem suicidal to me.«

»He isn't«, Dean spit out, trying to convince himself just as much as Castiel. »Not really. He'll be fine soon.«

Too blue eyes staring right into him. 

»He's avoiding you.«

»It will be fine. We always are.«

Castiel gave him a look that made it clear he knew exactly what Dean was trying to do. 

He put his right hand on Dean's cheek. 

»I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner.«

Dean was too tired to push him away again. He did not want to either. He just wanted to enjoy the fact that Castiel was really here, right now, with him. 

»It's okay«, he mumbled.

»You need to rest.« Castiel lowered his hand. »We'll talk later. After you've slept.«

Dean tried to argue back, but instead found himself nodding. 

»I guess I could try.«

He felt almost like he was sleepwalking, as he found his way back to his bed, wondering what Castiel had meant by »later«. If it'd meant that he'd be staying for now. 

His cheek felt cold and naked. 

The thought of falling asleep seemed foreign. 

Dean lay down on his bed in the dark, and waited for Sam. 

A quarter of an hour later, he was about to get up and start looking for him, when the door finally opened.

»Sam?« 

Sam pulled the door close behind him. He remained silent, halting in front of his bed. 

»Sammy, you alright?«

What a question, given the circumstances. 

Dean pushed the blanket off and sat up. 

Sam's voice was cool and strained when he finally answered. 

»I’m fine.«

He sat down on his bed. The shadows on his face made it impossible to make out an expression on it, but it wasn't necessary. Dean knew his brother well enough to recognize the doggedness in his voice. He didn't have to see it, to know his tense jaw was twitching. 

Dean felt the helplessness of the last hour give way to anger. He had to make an effort not to get loud. 

»What the hell was that?«

»What do you want to hear from me?«

»I want to hear how you got the fucking idea that I'm just gonna let you die. Snow angels? Shit, Sam, I didn't go to hell for that!«

»I never asked you to save me.«

»I never asked you to save my ass either, and you still did. That's what we do, Sam. We're saving each other's asses.«

Sam didn't answer. 

»What the fuck were you thinking? What am I supposed to do without you, huh?«

»I thought-« Sam drew in air sharply. »I thought it would be better for you, too."

»You thought you not being around anymore would be better for me? Are you out of your mind?« Dean felt the nausea creeping up on him. 

How much had he really messed up, if that's how Sam thought about him. 

»Sam... Sammy, you idiot. There's no me without you. Don't you get that?«

Sam wiped his hair from his forehead and remained silent. 

»Shit, Sam...« Dean pressed his index finger and thumb against his forehead. A dull throbbing was yet again trying to get his attention. »I'd never want something like that.«

Sam's voice wasn't much more than a whisper.

»Well, you said a few things...«

He didn't have to finish the sentence. Dean thought he knew exactly what he was talking about. 

»When you're angry, sometimes you say things you don't mean.«

Dean got up and settled down next to Sam. He put his arms around him, pulling him close. 

»Don't ever do that again!« His chin pressed into Sam's shoulder. »You hear me? Don't ever do that again. Or I'll personally go to heaven and pull your rear end back down here, before I'll give you a good ass whooping."

»Heaven?«, Sam mumbled. »You don't really think I'd end up in heaven, do you?«

Dean pulled his head away and grabbed Sam by the shoulders. 

»Where else would you go?«

»I don't think they'd let someone like me in there anymore. If they ever would have.«

»Don't say that.« Dean hit Sam's upper arm hard. He couldn't argue back. »It doesn't matter.« He forced himself to pull away and stand up. »You're not gonna die for the next 50 years anyway, all right?«

Sam nodded slowly. 

A little later, when Dean was lying under his blanket, trying to swallow the taste of bile, he heard Sam restlessly turning in his bed. 

»It's okay, Sam. Really. It's all okay. Just try to get some sleep.«

How different would this night have turned out, if Castiel hadn't shown up. And why had he, how had he known to turn up in the exact moment he'd needed him the most?

There was an image that wouldn't leave Dean's head, no matter how hard he tried. 

Sam, lifeless in his arms, frozen to death. 

And what for? Just because they hadn't been able open their mouthes. Only because ignoring things for as long as possible had seemed the easier route than talking it out. 

»Sam?«, he whispered into the dark. 

There was no reply.


	5. 25th December II

  
The sun shone brightly through the dirty window pane. It woke Sam.

It took him a moment to realize that he hadn't just dreamt up last night.

He didn't feel shame, when he thought back to lying down in the snow. He didn't feel ashamed about how Castiel had found him there, either. How he had considered him quietly with his questioning gaze. There had been no judgement in his eyes, just curiosity and something akin to worry.

The thought of having to speak to Dean again, however, had Sam's stomach in knots.

He turned his head on his pillow, to face the other bed. It was empty.

He sat up and looked through the window, out into the white.

He sat like that for a while, aware he was just playing for time. Actively delaying the moment he'd no longer be alone.

He got dressed, only to sit down on the edge of the bed again, his face in his hands.

There was no point in hiding. And why should he? He'd meant every word and every action.

Still, it was a guilty conscience that tried to keep him from taking the step across the threshold.

In the hallway, he slipped and almost fell.

The floor was sparkling clean. It definitely hadn't been that shiny and smooth just a few hours ago.

He could hardly picture Bobby cleaning the house in the early morning hours. Honestly, he could hardly picture Bobby ever polishing the floor in any capacity.

He looked around. The whole hallway, not just the floor, looked cleaner. And it was... decorated.

The walls, the mirror and the door were decorated with wreaths and mistletoe. It was actually quite tastefully done, but that didn't change the fact that it felt completely out of place in this house.

»Bobby?«

He found him in the living room, which also happened to be tidier than Sam had ever seen it before. He pointed at the decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Accompanied by perfectly wrapped gifts underneath it, neat red ribbons and all, it looked like it came straight from a commercial.

»When did you do all this?«

»Me? You think I did this?« Bobby cough-choked on his words. »Do I look like I spent the night dragging a giant tree into the house? Am I the kind of guy to decorate?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. »I don't really know how you celebrate Christmas.«

»Well, definitely not like this!«

He motioned to the poinsettia on the table.

»It's pretty.« Sam surprised himself by smiling. »I take it the presents aren't from you either then?«

»No. And since you seem to have about as much of a clue about what the hell is going on, I'd say we better figure it out soon.«

»Where's Dean?«

»I wanted to ask you the same thing.« Bobby shook his head in disbelief. »When I left my room this morning, I thought I'd taken some crazy pills.«

»Yeah, I know what you mean.«

»Yeah...« Bobby looked around indecisively. »Merry Christmas, I guess.«

»Merry Christmas, Bobby.« Sam moved towards the door. »I think I'm gonna go look for Dean. He probably just found a bag of candy canes somewhere and can't tear himself away or something. But I think I'd better check anyway.«

»Go ahead. And if he has anything to do with this shit, then...!«

Sam smiled. »Then I'll give him your thanks. Got it.«

He couldn't find Dean anywhere in the house. Despite how much Sam had wanted to avoid seeing his brother, he was starting to get worried now.

Bobby stood by the open fridge and looked up as Sam entered the kitchen.

»Did you see that? The fridge is overflowing with food! A roast, a potato gratin, a green bean casserole...« He slammed the door shut. »What the hell?! I mean, I was planning on having dinner with you guys, too, but I was thinking of something less elaborate. I'm not that much of a cook and you two, well..."

»Dean's not that bad of a bad cook«, Sam replied. »I mean, I assume he still is... It's not like he does it a lot, seeing how we live in motel rooms...«

Bobby looked at him suspiciously. Before he got the chance to express his disbelief about Dean's cooking abilities, they heard the front door open.

»I got pie!«, Dean proudly announced when he entered the kitchen. He put two stuffed white plastic bags on the table. »Cherry and Apple. It's christmas, so I figured we should go for both.« He noticed Bobby's expression. »What's wrong? You think it's overkill?«

»What's wrong? Have you taken a look around lately?«

»Yup.« He grinned at Sam. He hadn't seen an expression this carefree on his brother's face in a long time. »Pretty festive, don't you think?«

»Festive!« Bobby huffed. »What the hell is this? Did you do this?«

»Me?« Dean laughed heartily. »Definitely not me. Don't worry. When I woke up, I was just as surprised as you. But I suppose you've also noticed that there are no signs of demonic interference, right?«

»Yes, of course. I checked everything, but I was thinking maybe a curse, or-«

»It's not a curse.«

»Dean!« The voice came from the hallway. »Where are you?«

»Kitchen!«

When Castiel walked in, Sam was taken aback by the sheer absurdity of it all. Castiel carried a bunch of wrapped gifts piled up so high, he could just barely look past them.

»They need to go under the tree, too«, Dean said casually.

Bobby tried to process all the new information. »You went... shopping for presents?«

»And Pie.« Dean nodded. »All the things Cas forgot. Well, he didn't really forget about the presents. But I don't really trust him on that one. Who knows what his idea of a sensible present is.«

»Dean.« Sam snorted. »Your idea of a good gift is vintage porn and alcohol.«

Dean shrugged innocently. »Exactly. I know how to make people happy.«

Somewhere behind the pile of gifts, Castiel's voice resounded deeply: »I will go and place the packages under the tree now.«

»Thanks, Cas!« Dean punched his shoulder.

Castiel turned around to leave, careful not to drop anything.

Dean went to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

»Beer for breakfast, huh?«, Sam asked skeptically.

»It's way past noon. You just slept forever.«

Dean opened the bottle with his teeth and spat the crown cork onto the floor.

Bobby shook his head, mumbling something under his breath.

»How was your night?« Dean asked, still a smile on his lips, albeit a tight one. »I mean, the rest of your night? How was it?«

»It was fine.« Sam resisted the urge to take his eyes off his brother. »Yeah, I mean, yeah, it was alright.«

»Yeah?« Dean nodded. »That's great, Sammy. That's... He turned the bottle in his hands and took a step towards him. It seemed as if he wanted to embrace him and decided against it at the very last moment. »I'm gonna go check on Cas and the presents.«

Sam watched him leave.

»This guy and his damned angel. I should have known right away.« Bobby looked at Sam. »Did you know Castiel was here?«

Sam nodded.

The words »He's here because of me. I prayed to him. He saved me because Dean would have wanted it that way« were burning the tip of his tongue.

Instead he said: »He got here last night.«

»To throw a christmas party for Dean?« Bobby looked more and more skeptical. »I should probably stop asking questions I don't want to know the answers to.«

Sam smiled mildly.

A few strange hours followed, which Sam spent idly sitting around and watching Dean try to teach Castiel subtleties of christmas traditions. Sam was pretty sure that everything Dean told him about the "perfect roast" and "the right way to put an angel on top of a tree" was stuff he'd only seen on TV. Unless the holidays Dean and their father had spent without Sam, had been drastically different to the ones from Sam's own childhood memories.

The talk of angels on top of trees had brought a frightened look on Castiel's face. Sam hadn't been able to suppress a snort in response. It had been cute.

The most absurd thing about this day was that, in some way, Sam found himself enjoying it. It probably helped that everything felt more like an absurd dream than reality.

Last night seemed far away. He didn't want to brood. He didn't want to have to figure out an answer to the question whether he was happy to still be here or not.

He caught Dean's mischievous grin. It was obvious how happy Castiel's presence made him, even though he probably never would have admitted it.

It was much easier to watch Dean laugh than to bear his worried looks all the time. Of course, those were still there too, but Dean obviously tried really hard to treat him as normally as possible. In this case it meant that he was more friendly and relaxed with him than he had been for the last six months.

Who would have thought it would only take a snow bath to see Dean laugh again?

But maybe there would have been an easier way to get Castiel here.

In the evening they sat before the Christmas dinner. Bobby's kitchen table bent under the sheer number of dishes. Sam wondered how and where Castiel had been able to find it all in a hurry. I don't think he'd cooked anything himself.

Dean had a satisfied grin on his lips when he cut the roast. Castiel seemed comfortable too. By now Sam knew him long enough to correctly interpret the slight twitching of his mouth corners.

Only Bobby still didn't seem to know what was happening. Sam gave him a compassionate look and shoved the bowl with the green beans towards him.

After the delicious meal - Dean hadn't been able to persuade Sam to try some of the pie, he was a little sick already - they all found themselves in the living room. No one had said anything about it, but the gifts under the tree spoke their own language. Sam had to admit that he was a little curious himself.

Bobby had brought out eggnog and after his second glass even he seemed to find some pleasure in the evening. Especially since he had just unpacked Dean's gift and was now lovingly caressing the Macallan Single Malt Whisky.

»Wow!« Sam heard his brother yell. He turned around and saw Dean sitting on the ground in front of the tree, his head buried in a gift box. »Wow, Cas, I've wanted these headphones forever. How did you know?«

»Your browser history.«

Dean shook his head half irritated, half amused.

»When were you at my laptop, anyway? And if you have any questions about the tentacles, let me just say, in Japan it's considered an art form!«

Castiel just frowned. The way he stood there, trying really hard to interpret Dean's comment correctly, brought another smile to Sam's lips.

Dean lifted the black, bulky-looking headphones out of the cardboard box.

»Oh man, real Maestro! I tested them last year in a store in Chicago and wanted to get them right away. I swear, there are sounds in Stairway to Heaven that I never knew even existed before. The keyboard alone! And No Quarter! Phew! You can even hear this irritating studio background noise much more clearly. Maybe that sounds like a a bad thing, but it's a good thing!« Dean looked up gratefully at Castiel and then back at his gift. »Awesome... Awesome...« He shook his head. »I wonder what's left to be discovered on all the other songs with those things. What kind of stuff I missed before. I'll start with Houses of the Holy. No, with Led Zeppelin IV. III?« He looked up from the headphones again, and only now seemed to notice that he was babbling. A slightly shamefaced look scurried over his face. He stood up.

»Thanks, man.«

He hugged Castiel, who returned the motion, putting his hands around Dean's shoulders.

»I'm glad you like my present.«

»It's amazing, Cas! But also thanks for... well, everything else you did.«

It seemed like he wanted to say something more, but then he caught Sam's eye. He took a step back from Castiel. »Sammy, you haven't touched your presents yet.«

Dean reached for a small package that had clearly been wrapped by himself and shoved it in Sam's hands.

As expected, when Sam ripped through the thin wrapping paper, a porn magazine fell out.

»Thanks,« he smiled tiredly at Dean.

»There's something else.«

Dean got up, went to the tree and a little later handed him another present, which looked suspiciously similar to the first one. Sam was all the more surprised when he unpacked it and read the title.

»The ultimate guide to the best museums in the Midwest.«

He knew the surprise showed on his face.

»I thought you might like that kind of nerd stuff,« Dean said.

»Yeah,« Sam nodded. »Yeah, I do. I'm just... Thanks.«

Dean smiled, satisfied, and went back to the tree.

»Cas, you haven't opened your present either.«

Sam stared at the booklet in his hands. It was one of those plain $10 museum guides. Dean probably bought it at some gas station. What amazed Sam was, that he had already seen the packaged gift in the car last week. He'd thought nothing of it then. But now, the knowledge that Dean had bought this present so long ago, made Sam feel funny inside.

Sam looked at his brother across the room. Alcohol didn't always have such a cheering effect on Dean as it did today. Underneath his flushed cheeks his freckles were still visible. For reasons Sam would never fully understand Dean had always hated them. Sam though they gave his face a pleasant softness.

The admiring looks Castiel threw his brother grew more obvious and frequent through out the evening. Noticing them was odd. They made Sam feel a bit sad and happy at once. Maybe a bit jealous. But mostly it was nice and innocent to watch.

Sam was quite drunk himself, but he felt, tonight, he very much deserved to help his serenity a little bit this way.

It felt like a worthy ending to one of the very few good Christmas of his life. It was probably the strangest one too. It didn't seem like much of a contradiction to him just then.

Bobby had fallen asleep on the sofa, his mouth half open, snoring. On the other side of the room, Dean had just managed to adorn Castiel's hair with tinsel. Castiel endured the whole ordeal with a surprisingly stoic calm.

Sam lifted himself up quietly and walked out. All he wanted to do was get into his bed. Hopefully without throwing up.

As he was about to open the door to his room, Castiel suddenly appeared behind him in the hallway.

Sam turned to him in a quick movement. He felt him getting dizzy. He grabbed Castel's sleeve and held on to it. The fabric of the trench coat felt strangely stiff under his fingers.

»Hey Cas...«

»Hello, Sam. Did you like your presents?«

»Yes, thank you very much.« He couldn't remember getting anything except Dean's guide. »Sorry I didn't have anything for you. I didn't think that you'd-«

That you'd hear me? That you'd be throwing a Christmas party as soon as Dean looked at you all puppy-eyed?

Sam didn't know why you felt so bad of all a sudden. He was glad Castiel was here. He liked how much it meant to Dean, too. It was just...

»Angels don't need presents«, Castiel said.

»Actually, nobody needs presents«, he heard himself, just a slight slur in his voice.

»According to Dean, they're an integral part of the festivities.«

Sam held onto Castiel's elbow and nodded. »It is a symbolic gesture to express....

»Mutual esteem?« Castiel prompted.

»Yeah, exactly.« Sam still didn't let go. »I think that applies to angels as much as it does to people. Well... next year I'll remember to get you something.«

Castiel cocked his head to one side. »So you're planning to be around to celebrate next year?«

Sam blinked irritatedly. Was that Castiel's awkward way of asking if he was planning on living that long? Normally, Castiel was more ruthless and direct when it came to such things.

»I never really wanted to die«, Sam admitted. It sounded childish, unnecessarily defensive.

»I know«, Castiel replied with a nod. »Otherwise, you wouldn't have turned to me. You asked me to take care of Dean. The implication were clear.«

»I just wanted to make sure that Dean -«

»You don't have to explain yourself«, Castiel cut him off. »I'm not here to lecture you. I just wanted to say goodbye.« He suddenly looked very unhappy. »I've already stayed here for too long.«

»Too long for what?«

»The search for my father is difficult«, Castiel replied a little mysteriously.

»Oh. Shit. I kept you from important things in heaven«, Sam suddenly understood.

»It's all right. I was happy to spend this day with you.« He laid his free hand, the one Sam didn't still clutch onto, on Sam's shoulder. »I hope the next time we see each other, I'll have found out more and I will be under less time pressure."

Sam nodded anxiously. »Thank you«

»For what?«

»I haven't seen Dean this happy in a long time.«

»He's glad you're alive.«

»He's glad you're here« Sam disagreed.

Castiel tilted his head again. »Either way, I'm happy if I've been able to help you.«

Sam let go of Castiel's arm.

»You did. Thanks.«

He got nauseous and dizzy again. He had to go to bed. He was glad, a strong hand was still helping him stand upright.

Castiel's eyes drilled into him as if he still hadn't completely solved the Sam equation.

»Merry Christmas, Sam.«

Sam raised his hand and pulled one of the silver metal strips out of Castiel's hair.

Castiel looked at him, even more curious now.

Sam tore himself away, mumbled »Merry Christmas, Cas« and turned to leave.

He threw himself on his bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep that didn't last long.

It was very difficult for him to get up, but he felt nauseous. His dry throat demanded a glass of water.

He didn't know how much time had passed since he left Castiel in the hallway.

He turned his head to the side and saw that Dean wasn't lying in his bed yet. Maybe he had dozed off on the sofa.

Sam opened the door to the hall as he heard their voices loud and clear. He paused, the door barely cracked up.

He didn't know exactly why he didn't enter the hallway, but he suspected it was Dean's tone that made him stay inside his room.

The two of them were standing near the front door. Dean had his back against the wall.

»Are you sure, you really have to go now? What difference does one hour more or less make? Isn't time in heaven different anyway? Didn't you say you could timetravel? I never quite understood that... Heaven will hardly have the same timeline if hell doesn't.«

For how obviously drunk he was, Dean's musings were quite sensible.

»I had planned to leave when you fell asleep«, Castiel replied. »But you turn out to be very resistant to your own fatigue. The alcohol content of your blood would have been enough to make a medium-sized elephant faint.«

»Was that a joke? Were you just joking, Cas?«

Sam didn't see the grin on Dean's face, Castiel stood too close to him for that, but he heard it in his voice.

»It was not joking, merely stating a fact. But I'm glad I could cheer you up.«

»You did.« Dean's voice took on a more serious note. »Thanks.«

A strange pause set in, reminding Sam to leave now. That this wasn't meant for him at all. He had just decided to close the door, when Dean started talking again.

»I don't want you to go.«

»I don't feel comfortable leaving you and Sam alone again, either.«

»No...« Sam pushed his face closer to the crack between door and doorframe, to hear Dean's soft voice. »No. That's not what I meant. I don't... I don't want you to go...«

»I don’t understand.«

Sam, on the other hand, understood.

All of a sudden, Dean started laughing quietly.

»Did you hang this over the door on purpose? Were you trying to get lucky?«

Castiel stepped aside and Sam saw that Dean was pointing to one of the mistletoe branches on the ceiling hanging just above their heads.

»I was just hoping to provide you with a traditional Christmas.«

»You succeeded. Pretty damn well.«

Sam didn't see at what point Dean's hand had landed on Castiel's hip. He only saw Dean's hand jerk Castiel towards him.

They stood close to each other.

»We need to be standing right under that thing for it to work« Sam heard his brother say. »I am a bit drunk...«

»You're more than a little drunk, Dean.«

»Okay, granted, I'm pretty drunk.«

Dean's hands wandered under Castiel's trench coat and pushed it off his shoulders.

Sam looked at the garment on the floor, which seemed to him almost like a part of Castiel's body. Without the trench coat, he looked completely naked.

»I know you were just leaving...«

»I think I might be able to stay for just a moment longer.«

Castiel's voice now also seemed strangely husky. Sam had never heard him talk like that before. Normally, he only sounded this human when he got angry.

Sam couldn't make out what Dean and Castiel said next. He only heard soft murmurs and laughter.

From what he had just seen and heard, it should not have felt as much of a surprise as it did, when Dean Cas pulled close and kissed him.

He'd seen Dean in situations like this before. In most cases much less voluntary than now.

Dean's first nervous kisses he shared with that girl from next door in Tulsa. The hours he and his first girlfriend had spent exploring their mouths far too intently, while Sam had tried to concentrate on his homework. That terrible incident when Dean had been 14, after which had Sam ran out of their shared room with a bright red head.

The few loving and intimate kisses with people who'd meant something to Dean. And the many drunken hookups, with women he always claimed to have forgotten their names of the next morning. Most of these hookups Sam had fortunately only witnessed from the very far sidelines. But had seen enough in his life to get a very clear picture of Dean's love and sex life.

Sam was still standing at the crack of the door watching them. He rationalized his inability to look away with the puzzlement he felt. With the fact that he was not yet able to fully understanding what was happening in front of him. He would need another short moment to be able to classify what he saw here.

Yeah, Dean was drunk, but the way he was holding Castiel... The way he changed their positions and now gently but firmly pressed him against the wall. The care with which he kissed him had little of the spontaneity that the situation might seem to possess at first glance.

Sam couldn't explain to anyone why he was so sure. But what Dean was doing here wasn't new to him. His movements were so obviously well thought out, his hands ran over Castiel's body with full intent. If Dean hadn't done this before in reality, then it sure as hell had happened in Dean's imagination before. That much was clear.

»Dean.«

Castiel's voice went straight through Sam's heart. The almost painful cry far too direct and intimate to witness.

Castiel's whole body seemed to stretch towards Dean. Dean wouldn't let him continue talking. He already sealed Castiel's mouth with his lips again. A guttural moaning, familiar to Sam from the hookups where the sideline had been in earshot, escaped Dean's lips. »Fuck...«

Then suddenly Dean pulled his head back.

The two stood opposite each other, breathing heavily.

»Cas, I-«

Sam recognized this tone. It sounded like he wanted to apologize.

Castiel laid his hand on Dean's cheek in an almost religious gesture. He silenced him.

He gently kissed Dean, grabbed his hands and pulled him out of the hall into the living room in a quick motion.

Sam stared into the empty hallway.

If Castiel's trench coat hadn't still been lying forgotten on the floor, he could almost have convinced himself that he had imagined it all.

When he heard a soft moan that definitely didn't come from Dean, Sam finally took a step back further into the room. He carefully pulled the door close.

He noticed he was trembling when he sat down on his bed. The blanket above him felt uncomfortably warm on his skin. The air was stuffy.

He forced himself to close his eyes.


	6. 26th of December

A fucking mistletoe.

As if the whole thing had been a romantic fairy tale and not a drunken one-time thing.

Because that's what it'd been: A drunken mistake. With an angel, granted, but apart from that it was nothing that hadn't happened to him before.

Dean had been emotionally unstable. It had been a hell of a day. Sam alive despite everything; the Christmas party; Cas' appearance; the copious amounts of booze.

He did not stop to ask himself about his motives. He thought he knew them.

He was, however, a little unclear about Castiel's motivation. How little persuasion and coaxing he had needed (none) and how surprised Castiel had seemed by Dean's advances (not one bit).

Bobby nursed quite the hangover when they said their goodbyes. As soon as he let go of Dean's shoulder, he put his hand against his own forehead. He tried to massage the headache away.

»The whiskey?« Sam asked with compassion.

»And the eggnog.«

Sam smiled as if he was in pain himself. Dean didn't remember his brother getting wasted. But he was quite hazy on a few details of last night anyway. The tinsel, for example, which he'd found on his body in various locations under the shower this morning.

Sam leaned against the passenger door. He seemed far away, locked somewhere in his own mind, as he held his gaze rigidly onto one of the car wrecks.

It wasn't snowing anymore. But it was cold as hell.

»So this ghost in Nevada.« Bobby coughed up some phlegm. »Should be a simple salt and burn.«

»Yep.« Dean nodded. »Thank God. I've had my fair share of weird suicidal monsters.«

Dean flinched when he noticed his poor choice of words. He looked at Sam, but his brother either didn't notice or pretended not to. He held his shoulders high and was still staring into the distance.

Dean felt the strong instinct to ask about all of this. About the hunched up-ness and the staring. The »Everything okay, Sammy?« was on his lips. But Bobby was right there with him, and anyway, it wasn't the right moment to talk.

Dean just wanted to leave the place, and with it the whole last days, behind him.

»Take care, boys. Get back to me as soon as you see anything. And I really mean anything at all.«

Dean imagined hearing Sam sigh as he opened the door. »Take care of yourself, Bobby. Thank you for the Christmas party.«

»Ha.« Bobby snorted. »I didn't do anything.«

They were all thinking about Castiel. How could they not.

Dean started the car, turned on the music and speed his way out of there.

»So you and Cas, huh?« Sam said, eyes fixed on Dean.

»What about him?« He gave Sam a questioning look, trying not to let his comfortableness show.

»It’s great. I mean, I've always had a feeling about you two... And he's a great guy. Angel. Whatever. He's great.«

»What are you talking about?«

Dean's jaw cramped up.

Sam's eyes didn't betray what he was thinking. Her expression was completely neutral. »He's great. Don't worry, I like him.«

By now, Dean was pretty sure Sam must have seen them last night. He was definitely not going to admit more than he had to. »Whatever you think happened, Sam, you're wrong.«

»What do I think happened?«

Dean turned up the music, as if Sam might forget his questions if Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" only blared loud enough.

Sam still looked at him with the same lack of expression as before. »Are you worried I might disapprove?«

»Disapprove of what?«

Sam leaned his head against the side window without taking his eyes off him. »We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to.«

»There's nothing to talk about.«

Sam reached into the pocket of his jacket with his right hand. He took out something that Dean only recognized as tinsel at the second glance.

Dean's stomach clenched at the image that popped up his head. The gold and silver tinsel hanging in Cas' haired, illuminated by the light of the candles still burning on the tree. His blue eyes boring into Dean's. Castiel's naked body under his on the couch and the way he hands dug into Dean's skin.

Sam sighed. »I just hope there won't be too much drama if you guys decide to break up and I have to keep working with the both of you.«

»We're not.« Dean turned towards him, irritated. »I mean, we won't break up, because we're not dating.« He looked into his brother's grinning face. »Oh just shut up, Sam!«

Sam laughed quietly. »Don't worry. I'm just so happy for both of you.«

Dean's jaw clenched again. He would certainly not get dragged into this stupid game and let himself be provoked by Sam.

»But maybe next time you should tell Cas not to be quite so loud. Some people wanna sleep, you know.«

This, at least, answered Dean's question about how much his brother had heard last night.

»Bitch« he muttered, because he couldn't think of a better reply.

Sam shook his head, snorting. »Jerk.«

Dean had the urge to accelerate the car, but speeding with his Baby on icy country roads made him anxious.

Instead, he stopped his music and took the tape from the deck. With his right hand, he digged through the tapes for something more suitable.

He let go of the tapes and grasped the wheel again with both hands.

»Just put something in.«

»Me...?«

The surprise in Sam's voice was impossible to miss.

»Yeah. I need to focus on the road. It's glazed over like a fucking doughnut.«

He could feel Sam raising his eyebrows. »Well, okay.«

Sam bent down toward the tapes.

Dean knew at once it wasn't one of his own tapes. Pearl Jam's "Alive" started playing in the middle of the song. Dean didn't like the song or band very much. He turned up the volume.

»Sam?«

»Yeah?«

»Promise me you'll stay away from the snow for now, okay?«

It took a while until Sam finally answered.

»There's no snow in the Mojave Desert.«

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly kind of proud of me that I managed to upload the rest of this story before christmas 2020. 
> 
> Hope of some of you enjoyed this in the summer heat (or cold, depending on time and place, I guess..). Thanks for reading. <3


End file.
